The Astral Alibi (26 page)

Nidhi rose, arched, and meowed, jumping into her mistress’s lap. Sonia’s hand automatically caressed her silky fur. Her eyes were trained sympathetically on her assistant.

“I tried to protect you from being incriminated in a counterfeit case, but I’m afraid I couldn’t shield you from the inevitable hurt,” she added gently.

“Everything she ever said to me…was untrue? How could she fake all those…feelings? I still can’t believe she tricked me like this. I…I thought she was so wonderful and…!”

“She had us all fooled,” Sonia conceded, feeling deeply sorry for him.

“But why didn’t you tell me, Boss?” Jatin asked querulously, sounding more like himself.

“What would I have told you, Jatin? That the girl of your dreams, the girl you love and were ready to devote your entire life to, is a criminal? Would you have believed me? I doubt it! Love doesn’t listen to reason. Love is crazy and wild and careless. You were too intensely involved, and nothing I could’ve said would’ve made even a dent in your obsession. Instead, you would’ve almost certainly tried to argue with me. Besides, I didn’t want Naina to suspect a shift in your feelings. Everything had to be natural. You had to be in love with her and she had to
believe you to be in love,
to lend her the confidence to pull the final act!”

Jatin sighed, a little mollified. “I guess you’re right, Boss! I would’ve gone ahead and taken the plunge anyway. But the fact that I’ve been made a big fool of in this whole episode still hurts. God knows, my only fault was that I loved her! And look at the reward—all this unbearable pain? This hole in my heart!”

“The lure of love is often like a mirage,” Mohnish remarked. “You never know what lies at the end of the road. And inevitably, love and pain are always meeting at intersections. None of us are excused from these meeting points.”

“But how can I
believe
it! I would’ve sworn she really loved me.”

Sonia flashed Mohnish a quick, concerned glance. Jatin’s going into denial was more dangerous than his hurt. Mohnish rose and squeezed Jatin by the shoulders. “Naina was obviously a good actress.”

“Besides, love has its own commerce—too tough to figure out—and many faces,” Sonia added. “Maybe Naina’s is one expression of love we may never recognise? Who knows, perhaps in her own queer way, she really
did
love you?”

Jatin gazed at his boss and read the compassion in her eyes. “Who knows? I still can’t believe that she’s gone!”

“Not forever! The police will find her, sooner or later. We’re still unaware whether she was working entirely on her own or if she was acting on behalf of some big gang. But the police think that this may have been her own brainchild. Regardless, sooner or later, she’ll try to either sell or pawn the diamonds, and that’s when they will nab her.”

“But she was smart, wasn’t she?” Admiration inadvertently crept into Jatin’s voice. “Bold and gutsy! She should team up with The Owl! They’d make a good pair. Handsome and intelligent, but what conniving criminal minds!”

“You’ve got a point there!” Mohnish agreed. “Well, I’ve got to go. I’ve got a Television coverage to attend to. Please watch me on Cable TV, you two. I can tell you it’s not going to be easy shouting into the mike over all that din for more than twenty-four hours and going hoarse!”

“We will. Bye. Thanks for everything.” Sonia smiled.

She watched as the Journalist left. Then she turned to her assistant. He had extracted the velvet box from his pocket and was staring wistfully at the ring inside.

“She was beautiful, Boss. I really did love her and I’ll never forget her!” he said in a low voice.

“No, you won’t forget her. But she doesn’t deserve to be loved. She was beautiful and charming, but not from the inside. And most important, she misused
your
innocence and love. I don’t think any self-respecting person would or
should
forget or forgive that!”

Jatin looked up. “You’re right, of course. I would be a fool to even think about her!”

“No, Naina taught you—taught all of us—a very valuable lesson. But she’s more a target of sympathy than real hate. Learn the lesson and move on.”

He grimaced. “I guess that’s it. My search for the perfect life-partner begins all over again!”

“The next time, I’ll be the one to make your choice for you,” Sonia stated firmly.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way!” Jatin responded with a cheery smile.

And Sonia heaved a sigh of relief. It was great to have her good old friend back.

Jatin returned to the outer office and switched on the TV, channel-hopping till he paused at a soulful Hindi film number. The melody and the poignant lyrics evoked countless memories and insatiable desires. He stared at the ring for a long moment, fingering the sparkling diamond, regret topping the torment in his mind. Condemned to remain at the intersection of love and pain…Then, brushing away a drop which had appeared at the corner of his eye, he pocketed the box and sighed. A sigh which rose from the bottom of his heart, and which was loaded with the anguish of a lost paradise.

7

The Last Wish

Jatin swept a fond hand over Nidhi’s silky body. The little cat had settled comfortably on the window seat. Moonlight streamed in through the pane, onto the colourful cushions. What a pampered cat she was. She was so used to demanding attention and getting it, it was no wonder she had left The Owl’s home and found a more loving one! And she couldn’t have chosen a better home than Stellar Investigations. Sonia was not only a perfect mistress but also a perfect boss. Just as Naina had said.

Jatin winced. It still hurt. A passing thought. Even a fleeting image. Someone like her on the street raked up a volcano of emotions. It was the end of October, more than a month since that nightmare which had changed his life and the hurt was still raw. The nine-day celebrations of Navaratri—a festival celebrating and worshipping Goddesses Durga, Laxmi, and Saptashringi—had only succeeded in aggravating the memories. Now, he was dreading the approaching Diwali festival.

Day in and day out, he had harboured a hope for some news of Naina. Even secretly dared to imagine that she would attempt to contact him. But as days merged into weeks, the hope had dwindled. Naina was not returning. His heart had accepted it for a fact now. There was absolutely no trace of her. The police were still on her lookout, but it was as if she had disssolved into thin air.

His boss had been wonderful these past weeks. Patient, sympathetic, and treating him to festival bonuses to pep up his mood. And he had coped with the situation as best he could. Instead of mooning over his lost love, he had channelled his emotions into serious reading and staying late in the office. He even enjoyed a quiet chat with Nidhi, late in the evening, who lent him a patient ear and rubbed herself against his leg. The ache in his heart felt like a permanent concrete of sadness. It was as if the world had paled from a bright, enjoyable fair to a barren landscape. Only now he looked on the landscape with more compassion and understanding than he used to.

He knew deep in his heart that life would no more be that glorious merry-go-round to be enjoyed. And he would never be the old Jatin again.

The Stellar office was bathed in moonlight. The Navaratri festivities were over and the silence filled the building with an eerie tranquillity. Jatin stroked Nidhi one last time and was about to lock up, when he heard a rustling sound. Nidhi immediately raised her head. Something white flashed past the window, and Jatin’s heatbeat quickened. Someone was out there!
The ghost!

Without thinking, he sprinted out of the office and into the garden. Just in time to see a figure, draped in floating white, dash past the expanse of the garden. The moonlight and the wind streamed through the white sheet, billowing it into a big balloon. Suddenly the white material snagged on a branch, dragging the cloth away. Jatin froze. A face turned, framed by long gleaming dreadlocks, and flashed a venomous look. Jatin involuntarily stepped back, shocked. The next moment, the tall man tugged viciously at the cloth, ripping it, and vanished into the street.

“He’s no ghost! He’s more flesh and blood than most of us!” Jatin remarked to Sonia and Devika. “I never saw such horrible hair! Those dreadlocks!”

Sonia started. “Did you say dreadlocks?” Immediately the image of the malevolent beggar on the street rose before her eyes. The white bedsheet, the small mean eyes, the dreadlocks…Her skin crawled at the memory.

“Yes! He was wrapped in a white bedsheet which caught on a branch and slipped, exposing his dreadful hair. And I’ll never forget the expression on his face when he looked at me. So much hate!”

“If I’m not mistaken, I’ve met this ‘ghost’ before.” Sonia frowned. She narrated the incident of the beggar she’d encountered during Ganpati. “I’m quite sure that our ‘ghost’ is this same beggar. But what I don’t understand is, what is he doing on our premises? Is he passing by? Or does he have intentions of stealing?”

“I really think we should hire a night watchman,” Devika spoke up, sipping her
chai.

“I’m beginning to agree with you,” Sonia admitted. “From what I remember of this fellow, he’s a type to be wary of.”

“In that case, we ought to take no risks. We all work late into the night. I’d feel much safer with a watchman outside. Or even a dog!”

“A dog! You think Nidhi’s going to allow that?” Sonia grinned.

“Why not? My cat and dog live together. Nidhi is too spoilt. She’s monopolized all your love and attention. She needs to share it with another animal. In fact, the more I think of it, the more I like the idea. A dog would be ideal here!” Devika seemed quite taken with the concept. “At least think about it, Sonia.” She rose.

Sonia nodded. “We’ll talk about this again. Bye, thanks for dropping by.”

“Thanks for the lovely tea, both of you. My day really begins well!” Devika flashed them a smile and left the room with a wave of her hand.

And yet, within minutes Devika had returned.

“I found this tucked in your nameplate. Take a look!” She thrust a piece of paper at Sonia.

The detective accepted the now familiar piece of paper, her heart sinking. Another one of those awful notes! Jatin leaned over her shoulder to read.

“Stop the astrological nonsense or you will never see your cat again!”

“My God!” Jatin gasped.

Sonia’s eyes spontaneously moved to Nidhi, who was bathing contentedly in the sun streaming in through the window.

“I don’t like this at all,” Devika said. “It’s a
threat
!”

“Yes, Boss! It’s getting worse with every note!” Jatin protested.

“You mean there have been more of such notes?” Devika asked, surprised.

Sonia nodded. “Nothing really to worry about.”

Devika folded her arms. “That’s not the impression I get!”

“Hey, you don’t need to worry, okay?” Sonia smiled faintly. “Until now I’d thought that this was a jealous lunatic. But now I realise that I need to look into the matter. I can’t have anyone threatening my darling Nidhi!”

“Good. I hope at least now you see
why
we need a dog? If only to protect our beloved
Nidhi
! Well, see you later, then!” Devika sailed out of the room.

Jatin glanced at his boss as she studied the note carefully.

“The same print, on similar paper. Undoubtedly the work of the same person who sent the earlier two notes. But who’s doing this, and why?”

“Someone dead against Astrology, for sure! And against
you,
Boss!” Jatin picked up the empty cups and some files from the table. “I’m in the outer office if you need me.”

Sonia nodded absently. She was too deep in thought for his words to register. It was only when the strains of the signature tune of a news channel on Jatin’s TV trailed into the room that she rose. Jatin was watching the news.

“The renowned classical singer Pandit Raujibua Dharkar of the Gwalior Gharana—a famous and popular musical school and legacy—passed away last evening. He was listening to music when he had a massive heart attack,”
the reporter announced.

Sonia stood beside Jatin as they watched the news report.

“Pandit Raujibua Dharkar, fondly known as Panditji, was seventy-five. He had been suffering from a grave illness for the past several years. Panditji had performed all round the world, taking Indian music on the international circuit. He is survived by a wife and a daughter. Offering condolence to his family, the Prime Minister has expressed his grief, saying that the country has lost a great Maestro. His death is not only a great loss to Indian music but to the whole world. The Chief Minister…”

Sonia turned as Mohnish entered the office.

“I just did a report on that. Such a great man!” he remarked, as the voice of the news reporter droned on in the background.

“He put Pune on the international map,” Sonia agreed.

“Though I don’t understand much about classical music, I do know that he was the greatest, with hundreds of students trained under him,” Jatin added, as he turned down the volume of the Television. The news report was now featuring Raujibua’s performances in various shows, and photographs of his family. “I believe he married a woman much younger than him. Didn’t he? I remember reading about it some years ago.”

Mohnish nodded. “Mrs. Rima Dharkar is thirty years younger than he was. And a good friend of mine.”

“Really!” Sonia couldn’t hide her surprise.

“A couple of years ago, I did a documentary on the Dharkars. They were both very co-operative and friendly, and ever since then I’ve been in touch with them. She was a singer trained under him and she fell in love with his music and ultimately married him. She’s a wonderful lady and I have a great deal of respect for her. As a matter of fact, I’ve just come from the Dharkar residence. And I have a request from Mrs. Dharkar for you, Sonia.”

“A request?”

“There’s something she wishes to discuss with you immediately. I promised her that I’d pass on the message to you.”

“Discuss what? Her husband’s death?”

Mohnish nodded. “She didn’t go into details, but I gathered that what is concerning her is Raujibua’s passing away. I believe that it was unexpected.”

“He was ill and old. And a heart attack doesn’t announce its arrival,” Sonia pointed out.

Mohnish shrugged. “Why don’t you meet with her once? Surely you don’t mind….”

“Not at all,” Sonia cut in quickly. “Today?”

“Around four? I’ll drive you down to her residence. It’s at the foot of the Sinhagad fort.”

Sinhagad Fort—a fort synonymous with valor—was about twenty-five kilometers south-west of Pune. Here many wars were fought to conquer the fort’s steep cliff. The famous Maratha warrior king, Chhatrapati Shivaji, wanted to take the fort from the Moguls. On the night of February 14, 1672, it was his General Tanaji Malusare who scaled the back wall of the fort and entered it with the help of a
ghorpad—
a monitor lizard. Only then could the Maratha troops enter and capture the fort. But in the battle, General Tanaji lost his life. A grieved Shivaji had uttered the famous words
Gad
aala, pan sinha gela!—
The fort is ours, but the lion is gone! Since then the fort was renamed Sinhagad—Fort of the Lion—in honor of the lion-hearted Tanaji. As they left the Khadakwasla dam behind, Sonia couldn’t help but think of the history of the place. As a child she had often gone up the winding narrow
ghat
for picnics. The remnants of the fort offered only bits and pieces of insight into its past, but somehow the stories of valor had threaded their way into the heart of each Punekar. Besides, the ridges and forests which surrounded the fort were a trekker’s delight. Though treacherously dangerous during the monsoons.

The Dharkar estate sprawled on the same hill as the majestic Sinhagad Fort. In the centre of the land stood the Dharkar residence—the compact, modest bungalow of the famous classical singer. Single-room cottages flanked either side of the bungalow. These were the abodes of the resident students. As Mohnish’s car drove through the gate, Jatin expelled a soft whistle.

“Wow!” he exclaimed.

“It sure does look ideal, doesn’t it?” Mohnish agreed.

“And it all belongs to Mrs. Dharkar now. Do they have any children?” Sonia asked.

Mohnish shook his head. “None their own. A daughter from Mrs. Dharkar’s previous marriage. That’s why they always treated his students as children. Some of them have trained and resided in these cottages for years! You’ll meet three of them today, I believe.”

Mohnish drove the car to the front door. A knot of people in a variety of white attires were murmuring in low voices. Others ambled along the garden aimlessly. Mohnish led Sonia and Jatin past them, into the spacious hall. A big photograph of Raujibua Dharkar was set up in the centre of the room. Garlands almost hid the wrinkled but pleasant, smiling face of the old man. The strong smell of chandan incense sticks mixed with a melancholy air of sadness. As the three paused awkwardly at the entrance of the hall, a woman detached herself from one of the groups of people. She was tall and in her forties. A white cotton sari was looped over her slightly overweight frame. A thick long plait swung below her waist, as she approached them with slow, heavy steps.

“Mohnish!” her soft, sweet voice called out.

“Namaste Rimaji, I want you to meet Sonia Samarth. Sonia, Mrs. Dharkar—or Rimaji, as I call her. And this is Sonia’s colleague, Jatin.”

Swollen eyes, red-rimmed with shed tears, turned on Sonia. “I’m so glad you could make it,” Mrs. Rima Dharkar murmured. “I can’t talk to you with all these relatives around, so anxious to help and yet at a loss what to do. Please follow me to the music room.”

She turned and they followed her into another room, much larger and more imposing than the hall. The high walls were adorned with life-size portraits of the singers in the family, along with a variety of musical instruments. A sitar, tabla, and dagga, harmonium, a violin, and a guitar. Thick, white floor-hugging mattresses which could accommodate at least twenty students covered the length of the floor. A mattress with two oversize cushions rested against the wall.

“This was Raujibua’s favourite room, where he liked to do his riyaz and teach his students. I can’t believe that he is not amongst us.” Mrs. Dharkar sighed. “Please, sit down. I hope you don’t mind sitting on the mattress?”

Mrs. Dharkar sat down on Raujibua’s seat, while the others settled cross-legged opposite her.

“Rimaji, you wanted to discuss something…” Sonia began.

The Maestro’s wife nodded. “Yes. I don’t know how to put this….” She paused delicately, then continued, “It’s a strange feeling that I’ve got. That my husband needn’t have died like he did.”

“What exactly do you mean? He had a heart attack, didn’t he?” Sonia confirmed.

“Yes, he did. But…I know that I’m going to sound foolish saying this, but I have a terrible feeling about this whole thing. That something is not right. Something I ought to know but don’t. Something somehow connected with my husband’s death.”

“Do you have any concrete suspicions? Anything which may hint at foul play?”